Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 912: Kill The Wraith King

Islinda thought she had seen it all. First, there was Aldric, a light Fae child twisted into a dark Fae prince through a sinister ritual. Then there was Maxi, half-Fae and a horse shifter.

Her experiences had taught her not to judge, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. Who, in their right mind, would mate with such gruesome beings?

Did wraiths even possess the right anatomy to be compatible with Fae? Her imagination tried to bridge the gap, but her mind balked at the sheer absurdity of it.

She glanced at Zal’therak. In his current form, with his horns and sharp features, he looked almost human. She supposed that, aside from the horns, he could easily pass as one. Not entirely unattractive, even if his aura radiated danger.

He had a certain rugged charm that might appeal to someone. Islinda thought about the wild Faeries, the untamed ones who consorted with creatures as odd-looking as Zal’therak. Perhaps he could blend among them, as long as he didn’t shift into his terrifying wraith form.

Nonetheless, his skeletal, monstrous appearance had been burned into her memory even if he stood before her now, composed and regal, exuding power and authority. Strange enough, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he led, oscillating between those two extremes.

No, it was better off not delving into such questions. It was already uncomfortable enough being in his presence. freёwebnoѵel.com

"You’re judging me," Zal’therak said, his tone casual and devoid of anger, as though he were merely stating a fact.

"Could you blame me?" Islinda replied with a raised brow. "For as long as I’ve been in the Fae world, wraiths have been branded as every Fae’s mortal enemy. And now you’re telling me that a Fae and a wraith—not just any wraith, but a *king* wraith—fell in love and produced an heir? That’s like the romance story of the century." Islinda laughed, the sheer absurdity of the situation amusing her. "So yes, don’t blame me for being a little judgy. I’ve seen what wraiths look like, and I can’t help but wonder how your parents even..." Islinda trailed off, realizing she was venturing into dangerous territory.

Zal’therak caught her drift immediately, and to her surprise, he laughed. "You’re curious about our anatomy?"

"I didn’t say that," Islinda lied, hastily averting her gaze to hide her reddening cheeks.

But Zal’therak wasn’t fooled. He chuckled, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "I’m afraid such knowledge might cost you. Unfortunately, you’re already mated, so I cannot take you for a queen. That means you’ll never find out. Even among my people, we respect the sanctity of the mate bond. My mother made certain of that."

"Thank the gods for that," Islinda muttered, recovering quickly. "Because let’s be clear, forget saving your people—my mate would burn this entire place to the ground, with all of you in it, if anything happened to me." Though Islinda delivered the statement as a jest, her tone carried an unmistakable warning.

Zal’therak, an experienced ruler, picked up on her subtle threat. He inclined his head respectfully. "You can rest assured, Islinda Grace Remington, that no harm will come to you during your stay here."

Her presence, after all, was part of a diplomatic mission. Once she returned, she would relay the terms of negotiation to Astaria. If they agreed, there might be peace. If not, the war would rage on.

"Please, have a seat." Zal’therak gestured toward a seat crafted from hardened earth, made comfortable with a covering of dark cloth. He settled onto a similar mound across from her.

The two green-skinned women from earlier exited silently, their tasks complete. A third entered, carrying a tray with two cups of a translucent liquid. The woman served Zal’therak first, then Islinda, her movements precise and deferential.

Zal’therak raised his cup and drank without hesitation. Islinda, however, merely stared at hers, suspicion flickering in her eyes.

"It’s not poisoned," Zal’therak assured her. "You still don’t trust me. I gave you my word—no harm will come to you under my watch."

"Poison isn’t the only way to kill," Islinda countered. "You could have spelled it. And let’s not forget, I’ve lived among Fae long enough to know how cleverly they manipulate their wording."

Zal’therak shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Suit yourself." He tipped his cup back, draining its contents in one swift motion.

Islinda watched him contemplatively before finally lifting her own cup to her lips. The liquid was deceptively sweet at first, the flavor bursting on her tongue like ripe fruit. But as it slid down her throat, it burned like fire, sending a wave of heat through her chest and making her head spin. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted, strong and disorienting.

She set the empty cup down, her gaze meeting Zal’therak’s. His lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. Islinda couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or amused with her.

The wraith king leaned back, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his empty cup as he watched Islinda’s reaction to the wine. His gaze was sharp, yet there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

"Do you know where that wine is produced?" he asked suddenly.

Islinda stiffened, the sudden shift in conversation making her wary. The heat from the wine still lingered in her throat, and her unease deepened. "No," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Why? Where is it from?"

Zal’therak’s lips curled into a smirk. "It’s made from the urine of the beast you saw me riding earlier."

The words hit her like a blow, and her face immediately drained of color. She stared at him, horrified, her mind flashing back to the grotesque, lumbering creature she had seen him mounted on. The thought of its urine being in her cup made her stomach churn violently. She clutched her cup, her body leaning forward as she began to gag, her stomach lurching.

The gods help her because she was so killing the king of the wraiths!